Standing Tempus
by Dark-lighter0405
Summary: It's Seventh year. Harry has defeated the dark lord with the help of Dumbledore NonHBP compliant and he finds that life is much better. Except one factor. When Draco is given the opportunity, he makes Harry's life hell, in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will be written and revised by Spideria and Myself. It is an original plot, concieved by the two of us. We've put hard effort into this so please, be kind. Also, for all intensive purposes, Dumbledore is NOT dead, I repeat NOT DEAD. Without further ado, Standing Tempus.**

**DISCLAIMER: ** **_We do not own Harry Potter or any of the affiliated characters, locations, themes, or ideas. We DO own the plot of this story and nothing else._**

**Standing Tempus**

_**Chapter 1**_

_**"Out of the Darkness" **_

"3...2...1! Congratulations Harry!"

Cheers errupt from everywhere around Harry, as he was finally brought out of the darkness of the blind fold he'd been sporting for the half hour it took to get him there. The Hog's Head it seemed, was the location of choice for this celebration. What exactly was being celebrated was something Harry was just itching to find out...although he had a pretty good idea why at this point in time, the second week into term, people would drag the boy-who-lived down to a pub and yell 'congrats'.

"Thank you so much Mr. Potter." "I'm so glad you've finally done it Mr. Harry Potter, sir." "Well done Boy!" All these things being shouted in his direction, or put in his face. Harry specifically asked NOT to have a celebration for the defeat of the Dark Lord. Harry would have stormed out angrily the moment he saw the banners and the balloons had he not first seen the smiling faces of familiar people and strangers alike. They all seemd so _happy_ and he..._he_... was the cause of that.

"Hermione, Ron..." Harry began, looking a bit flustered and overwhelmed, "You guys seriously shouldn't have--"

"Oh Harry, stop being so modest!" Hermione scolded playfully, "You deserve a bit of fun. Come on then, how about a little bit of butterbeer?"

"I, uh..." Harry stopped his protest on his lips as he watched their faces, "I guess I could stay for a few."

Harry smiled weakly as he saw his friend's own smiles reach the tips of their ears.

"We knew you'd love it Harry, now come on, there's plenty of people here who are just DYING to talk to you." Hermione said with a laugh.

Noise bustled around him everywhere and bits and pieces of conversation could be heard over the roar of the crowd gathered there that night. Tables were as full as the butterbeer mugs, and the aisles were as busy as a fishing net filled to the top.

" 'Scuse me, Pardon me, watch it!" Could be heard by Ron, who was leading the small trio to the front to order three large mugs of butterbeer.

"We'll take three please." He said happily and pushed the money forward on the counter with the tips of his fingers.

"Comin right up!" the bartenderess replied with a wink. Ron blushed and Hermione looked a little put out.

"Ronald, could you go two seconds without thinking about..._that?_"

"What do you mean? I wasn't even thinking about...THAT...until YOU brought it up." Ron retorted.

"Oh sure so when she winks at you and you --"

"Guys, guys! Hold it! We're here to have a good time!" Harry found himself mediating. He knew he should just let this play out...maybe that way he could find the nearest escape route, but one must assume that six years of old habit never goes away from a person. 'Honestly' Harry wondered to himself 'When will those two get a clue?'

"Sorry Harry." Hermione blushes sheepishly and then nudges Ron in the ribs. "Yeah Harry." Ron says, "Sorry."

Harry laughed at their pathetic attempt at an apology but accepts it anyway. This is as much for him, as it is for them. If Harry knew them, they were the ones who put all the planning into this. He couldn't help but feel a little bit touched by it even though all he really wanted to do is forget the whole thing happened.

"Hey listen guys, I think I'll go outside to get some fresh air." Harry smiled, and then turned around to head out. He'd taken his butterbeer and moved forward about ten steps before he crashed to the ground."

"Jesus Christ!" Harry said indignantly.

"Oh god, I'm so so---"

"Malfoy. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'd say that I was just enjoying the festivities but my mother always taught me not to lie." Draco sneered.

"So you decided to listen to her now? What good is it when she's dea-"

"Shut up Potter. Shut up." Draco sneered, teetering dangerously on the edge of violence.

"And if I don't?"

"You don't want an answer to that question. Now if you'll remove yourself from my path, I'd like to leave here as soon as possible."

"Not so fast, _Malfoy._ First I want to know what you were doing here." Harry says, venom in his voice, and an unspoken question in the air. _'Why be here when you know nobody wants you to be.'_

"I didn't realize this was going to turn into a 'We-Love-Potter' convention after 8 tonight. It's not a crime for a guy to have a drink or two before heading to bed. Now move, before I do it for you."

"So you expect me to believe that you didn't know this was going to happen? And that you were just leaving?"

"Potter, just because your life is a lie, doesn't mean you have to question everyone else's."

Harry looked like he was about to kill Draco...but he didn't get the chance as Draco pushed past him and the crowd and exited the pub. Harry waited a few seconds before going out too. He wouldn't let Malfoy control where he went, or what he did. So he was going to get some fresh air like he told his friends he would.

Harry's hair slightly rustled in the light breeze that swept upon him as he exited the pub, looking both ways down the street before taking a long stride into the middle of it. There wasn't much he could do, or many places he could go. It seemed that almost all of Hogsmead had closed just for this special celebration. Harry decided a walk would do him so good, that way he could think over some things.

So much had happened since his sixth year, and it only seemed like a day ago that he was working with Dumbledore to find Voldemort's horcruxs. In the end, they'd spent most of the summer picking up hints, peicing together his past, and eventually destroying all the horcrux. The only one they had left by the last week of summer, was the piece of Voldemort's soul that he still had in him. There were casualties...people who still fought for the dark lord, even though his demise was fast and coming, and people knew that. Draco's mother however had been an interesting case. She didn't do it for Voldemort, she did it because of him. And there's a difference. She died protecting Lucius. Love apparently...doesn't conquer all. The dark lord killed her because of him...

Memories. Distant memories are all those were to Harry, and now he could finally live his life this year without being in the shadow of the dark lord. Finally...Harry would know what it would be to just be free, be regular, and be...himself.

"OW!" Harry yelled as he fell to the ground and rubbed the back of his neck where a rock had been thrown hard. "What the--Malfoy."

"Oh Darn, and I was hoping a rock to the head would make you NOT state the obvious. Who else would it be Potter?"

"Of course. I should have expected something so childish from you. You haven't changed a bit Malfoy."

"And why should I?" Draco sneered. "All you've ever done, is make my life hell, it's the least I can do to thank you."

"_I_ made _your_ life hell? All I ever did to you was refuse your hand that first year. Ever since then you've gotten your knickers in a twist about me."

"You have serious issues if you think that this," Malfoy stopped to motion in the air between them, "Is still about that day. Although it didn't help matters much."

"So what did I do? What in the hell did I do to piss you off so badly you keep tormenting me?"

"Do you really need me to answer that question potter? Are you really that thick? My mother is dead because of you."

"IT WASN'T ME YOU IDIOT!" Harry screamed at him, voice echoing through the small village. "The reason your mother and father are dead is because of Vold-"

"You _disgust_ me." Draco said, words cutting across the distance between them like a knife. "With your petty lies, and your facade of happiness and holier-than-thou attitude. I know what you did Potter. You went to him in prison and you gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. The ministry agreed to your little plan because they wanted Voldemort dead too. When the Dark Lord found out however..._that_ was a different story. My mother knew all along, and went to save him. I'm pretty sure you know the rest, and don't try lieing about _this_ Potter, because I was there. There when my mother hid away the letters under her floorboards...the ones he wrote to us telling us what happened."

"Your father knew what he was getting himself into."

"I'm not so sure he did."

"Well Malfoy," Harry said, making a childish assumption, "I'm sure he taught you everything he knew, you figure it out."

Malfoy's eyes widened at this. "You.." In a flash his wand was out, and so was Harry's. "Sectum-"

Harry smirked, "Expeliarmus"

"Protego"

"Using the dark arts Malfoy? I would have thought you'd have known better."

"Silencio"

"Protego!" Harry shouted. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Pro- AHHH" Malfoy yelled as he was thrust into the air. "Finite Incantantuuuuuum!"

Seconds later he was on the ground. "Ooooo." Malfoy moaned. He looked like he landed wrong on his leg. It looked bent and out of shape. Harry began to panic.

"Malfoy..." Harry began softly.

"Fuck off." Malfoy replied, his voice clearly shouting in pain, even if he wasn't.

Harry sighed. "Malfoy--"

"FUCK _OFF_."

"Fine!" Harry retorted, wincing at his childish tone. "But don't say I didn't try to help. _Arsehole." Finished Harry with a mutter._

When Potter was gone, Malfoy cast a small healing spell he'd learned at home, and was soon wobbling toward the castle. He'd have to have Madam Pomfrey look at it, even though he was sure Severus could do a better job with a healing potion. Malfoy didn't want to bother his gaurdian right now.

Malfoy winced. His gaurdian. Malfoy thought bitterly, 'If it weren't for Potter he'd still have parents...still have a family.' And now? Now Malfoy had nothing.

"Bide your time Harry Potter. Bide it well." Malfoy mutter maliciously.

Harry walked slowly to Hagrid's hut, no longer having any intention of going back to the 'celebration' but just wanting to sit down with a cup of tea and maybe talk about some things. Hagrid would know what to do...Hagrid would know what to say. Harry'd done the right thing! Malfoy had told him to fuck off, so that's exactly what he was doing. Fucking minding his own fucking business. Still...Some part of Harry couldn't help but feel guilty.

_Knock Knock Knock_

"Hagrid, it's Harry. Open up!" Harry waited a minute and there still wasn't any answer. "Hagrid?" Harry asked into the air. When there was no answer, Harry pushed on the door to see if it was locked. It wasn't.

"Haaaaggrriiid?" Harry asked slowly in a sing-song voice, as if playing some game of hide and seek. There was no answer so Harry lit a lamp with his wand. "Inflamare."

Soft candle-light illuminated the room and Harry saw Fang lounging in his normal corner. "Hello Fang, how are we today?"

After petting Fang, Harry thought he'd wait for a few minutes to see if Hagrid would show up, and in the meantime he thought it would be nice to put on a pot of tea. Not long after, there was a whistle of the kettle announcing that the tea was ready. Had it been long enough for tea to be ready so soon? It seemed only a second ago that he'd put it on the small stove.

Harry gathered up the kettle and got out a small teacup complete with a saucer, and also grabbed a biscuit from a platter sitting out on the counter. Once back at the center table, Harry promptly began to butter his biscuit and then clean up any mess he'd made before he sat down to enjoy his tea.

'Now' Harry thought 'I guess I'll have a cup or two and wait for Hagrid to return.' He ate his biscuit...stale biscuit...and had drank about half his cup when an idea struck him.

"I Solemnly Swear that I am up to No Good!"

The map of Hogwarts suddenly appeared before Harry.

"Let's see...Peeves is on the third floor corridor, Dumbledore is...pacing in his office...The Slytherins are down in the dungeons...including _Malfoy..._Hagrid...Hagrid...Hagrid... Hagrid isn't there! Ok, uh, where's ron and hermione, I've GOT to tell them."

"We're here." Hermoine states from the now open doorway.

"Ron, Hermione! Hagrid's GONE! He just went...Missing! He's not on the map anywhere! We've got to tell Dumbledore!"

"Harry it's ok...Hagrid's not missing, he's just...on a trip. That's all." Hermione and Ron look at each other guiltily.

"Alright guys," Harry says grimly, "What is it you're not telling me?"

"So let me get this straight." Harry replied tiredly to Ron in their dorm room. "Hagrid went on a mission for Dumbledore."

"Yes."

"To the giants."

"Yes."

"Becaue gwap ran away from their community."

"Yes"

"And Hagrid's going to look for him?"

"Yeah Harry."

"Ok so answer me this Ron." Harry refrained from using 'Ronald' as that was Hermione's territory. "Why didn't you guys tell me?"

"Things were complicated. We just wanted you to be happy for a little while. Keep you in the dark about things because we cared about you!" Ron finished loudly.

"Yeah...good looking out Ron." Harry huffed and then just flopped on his bed and whispered a spell to turn out his lights. Ron did the same.

"Good night Harry. We'll talk in the morning."

**A/N: Well...what did you think? How was it? Let us know!**

**Dark-lighter0405 & Spideria**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Into the Shadows"

"Bloody woman," Draco muttered to himself as he finally entered the Slytherin dormitory. Healing his leg at the hospital wing had been as much of a hassle as he'd imagined it would be. Upon arrival, Madame Pomfrey had looked down at him sternly – as she'd taken to doing after the Hippogriff incident back in third year – and then breezily walked past him, saying that she had more desperately injured patients to tend to first as she made her way to a first year claiming to have an ulcer in her liver.

"That's not even possible!" the blonde had angrily hissed as the first year clutched her left side with an emphasized moan.

"I can't possibly go to classes, tomorrow! My liver has a gaping hole the size of Hogwarts! Ohhhhh! It burns so badly!" the first year continued to wail painfully.

"That's not even where the liver is!" Draco exclaimed, causing the first year to drop her hands and bringing a frightened look upon her face. _Looks like she won't be missing whatever test it is she's trying to escape, after all, _Draco thought to himself please. And it served her right to be caught, he believed. Making a Malfoy wait for such idiotic attempts to fool the nurse was not something to be easily forgiven.

"Of course that's where the liver is!" Madame Pomfrey huffed. "This is where the pain is, isn't it?" she asked, redirecting the girl's hands to her right.

"Oh, yes! That's exactly where it hurts!"

"Well, then, Ms. Ball, I'll have a look at your –"

"Madame Pomfrey," Draco growled out in a furiously low voice. "My leg is in severe pain. I just recently broke it and was able to slightly heal it, but not very much by any means. _Clearly, _I need your attention much more than that ignorant little-"

"Mr. Malfoy! You shall _not_ address your fellow schoolmates in such a rude and unacceptable manner!"

"_Fine,"_ Draco ground out, slowly. It was obvious he wasn't going to get anywhere with the grudgingly irritating witch by speaking what he believed to be the truth. "Madame Pomfrey, would you _kindly_ take a look at my leg. I'm in a great deal of pain at the moment."

"After I deal with Ms. Ball's liver ulcer," and with that, she turned her back to the unbelieving Slytherin and began tending to the first year once again.

After six exasperatingly painstaking minutes of pointless prodding and questioning, Madame Pomfrey concluded that the young first year was, indeed, merely trying to avoid what turned out to be her Magical History exam, leaving the poor girl to walk away sullenly.

Clearing her throat, she finally returned her view to Draco and stated, "Now, what was it you mentioned about your leg, Mr. Malfoy?"

Now he lay sprawled out across the length of the longest couch in the green and silver common room, eyes closed, and his fingers meticulously rubbing at his throbbing temples. _And all this because of that bloody Potter, _he thought to himself venomously. Who did that Potter think he was, breaking Draco's leg like that? _He ought to be expelled._ But of course, Draco knew that would never happen. Loved as he was, even a crime as heinous as breaking Draco's leg would go unpunished. In fact, he silently scoffed to himself, Dumbledore would probably find a way to blame everything on Draco. The old fool would probably find away to make Harry's rule-breaking out to be some form of righteousness – just like at the end of first year.

Draco let out a disgusted huff of breath. He was past such trivial matters of dislike for the boy. There were bigger things to hate Harry for, he knew, as thoughts of the war's events came hurtling back to him. His mother was dead. His father was dead. The Malfoy name had not only lost its high status, but had plummeted down until it became an embarrassment to have ever had even the slightest of relations to the family.

And, again, he thought to himself: _It's all because of Potter._

In the time since the war had passed, he'd racked his mind for ways to make the boy suffer; was to make him pay, but no plan that wouldn't land him in Azkaban seemed to be fitting. While he wanted revenge against his rival, he did not want to get punished for any action he took. Being punished for hurting the miserable Gryffindor would undo the entire act.

He refused to hurt Potter only to be caught and penalized for it – that would be exactly what Potter wanted. It would reverse the revenge and punish Draco instead, keeping Harry still untouched.

No. Whatever Draco did, he wanted to get away with it. He wanted to bring down that hideous little prat and go undiscovered, leaving Potter to bask in his pain with no one to pay for his troubles. Of course Draco would more than love to be able to claim responsibility for causing the filthy sod such terrible pain, but he was willing to give that up in order to finally get even.

Whatever he came up with in the end, he wanted it to be good. He wanted it to be more than good. He wanted to make sure the day his plan went to effect became a day Harry would never forget; he wanted it to be a day the he, himself, would never forget.

DHDHDH

"Check," Dean said with a sigh as he ordered his rook directly in front Seamus's king.

"Ha, please. Not for long." Seamus scoffed as he commanded his king to take Dean's rook, a cocky grin upon his lips.

Dean shook his head with yet another tired sigh as said, "Honestly, Seamus. You fall for this _every_ time. I'm beginning to think you do it on purpose."

"_What _are you talking about? I'm winning. In case you'd care to notice, my king just killed your rook."

"Yeah, and now," he replied, as he commanded his bishop at an angle across from Seamus's king, "your kind is dead. Checkmate."

"What? No way! No, come on! That is _not_ fair! You have this game rigged! There is no possible way that…"

Seamus's complaints for became drowned out the rest of the common room as Harry stepped out of the seventh year boys' room a frantic red-head following close behind. "Harry, would you _please_ listen to me? I'm telling you, Hermione and I just wanted to give you a break! Can't you understand that we wanted to let you relax for a bit?"

"Leave me alone, Ron," was the brunette's cold reply.

"Harry, please!"

"I'm going to tell you one more time: Leave. Me. Alone."

"I will _not_ leave you alone. You're blowing this _way_ out of proportion! It's not that big of a deal!"

"IT'S NOT THE BIG OF A DEAL TO YOU BECAUSE **_YOU _**DON'T CONSTANTLY HAVE PEOPLE DECIDING WHAT YOU CAN OR CAN'T HANDLE! I **_NEVER_ **WOULD HAVE KEPT THAT INFORMATION FROM YOU! NEVER! AND YOU KNOW IT!" Having caused more scenes than he could remember, Harry was hardly embarrassed by the turning heads in the common room, though he was weighing the thought of hexing them until the brains gushed out if they didn't start minding their own business, soon.

"But- but… it wasn't even _completely _my idea! It was Hermione! _She_ thought of it!"

"Oh, and I suppose you're just a mindless puppet without a thought of your own?"

"Yeah, I mean no! It's just that… Hermione… you know how persuasive she can be… how stubborn she can get."

"You could have told me in private. I wouldn't have let her know."

"Well… but why aren't you mad at her, too!" Ron exclaimed, clearly frustrated.

Sincerely agitated by the continuous stares of the amazingly nosy people, Harry began to head out of the common room, Ron still following behind him. He hadn't the slightest clue where he was headed, but he figured he'd be able to lose his _friend_ soon enough if he kept walking.

"Harry, that's not fair! You can't be angry with me and not with Hermione! She's as much a part of keeping this a secret from you as I am!"

"Ron, I _know _that! But _you_… you're supposed to be my best friend." The look of hurt in Harry's eyes was almost enough to keep the freckled teen from further arguing, be he, too, was becoming fed up with this.

"Well you're supposed to be my best friend, too! Aren't best friends supposed to forgive each other!"

"Just go away, Ron."

"No! I can't believe that you're taking this out completely on me just because I'm your best friend!"

"_Just _because? Alright! You know what, Ron? I _am _mad at Hermione! I'm even more furious with Dumbledore! I am! I really, truly am – but I can handle that. I'm shaking with bloody fury at what they did and I'm playing out a thousand different ways of inflicting maximum pain on both of them, but I can handle it. Or at least I would be if I had someone to fall back on. That someone is supposed to be you."

Harry was trying to get his point across to Ron in the most blatant way; he was trying to reach out to Ron and tell him just how important their friendship was to him, but as he saw the taller youth opening his mouth to shoot back a counter argument, his hope shattered.

Ron _was_ his best friend, but that didn't mean he was able to communicate with Harry in the way Harry needed. Even after all they had been through, Ron was still too immature – too naïve – to understand the ways in which Harry needed him. Harry needed him to be completely open with him so that Harry could, in turn, be just as open with him. Harry needed his friend to hold back his instincts to win an argument and take a second to consider why Harry was angry. Harry _needed_ Ron to _not_ be such a complete and utter git every time he did something to anger Harry!

Why couldn't he ever just _accept_ the things that angered Harry and make sure to avoid them? Why did he have to insist on re-doing all the stupid things that not only infuriated, but hurt Harry? And _why_ did he always let Hermione tell him what to do? _Why_ couldn't he _ever_ have a mind of his own when it came to matters of importance to Harry?

It was one thing to play around and mock yield to her command when she forced him to do homework or forced him to start packing for holidays, but it was another thing entirely to surrender to her when he _knew –_ knew without the slightest doubt in his mind – that it would end up aggravating Harry to no end.

Harry needed Ron to be someone who he could be sure would hold absolutely nothing from him. Unfortunately, was not that someone.

"Ron," Harry sighed, raising his hand to cut the other boy off. "Just forget it. I'm over it. If you and Hermione and Dumbledore all thought it was best not to tell me, that's fine. I don't care." And with that, he walked away from one very much stunned Ronald Weasley.

DHDHDH

Muttering to himself angrily, he kicked the dirt floor at his bad luck. Standing in the quidditch field, a slight breeze in the air, he wanted desperately to fly, but he'd left his broom in his room, and there was no way he was going to walk back and risk running into Ron, again… but he _really_ wanted to fly.

Staring at the Gryffindor "locker room", an idea began churning in his head. It was a bad idea, granted, but it was a way to quench his thirst for flight. Deciding to go for it, he headed over to the shed-like structure with purposeful strides.

Walking inside, he turned to his left and looked at the wall with a slight grimace. There hung several two-sixty brooms – the same ones from his first year. He couldn't believe he was actually going to take a chance flying on one of those things. Difficult enough to maneuver when he was a tiny first year – wobbling unsteadily and moving like a dying car put-puttering along a vacant road – it was going to be ten times as hard to ride many inches taller and a fair amount heavier, but he was willing to give it a try.

Slowly dismantling a broom just above his right shoulder, he began throwing it into the air a couple of times to test its weight. Then he slid his hands along the shaft. An expert polishing is what this broom needed, and heavy duty sanding down and chopping off of stray twigs, but he could still make use of it… he hoped.

Planting it across his right shoulder as he usually did with his firebolt, he felt considerably less confident with _this_ broom, but he could pretend it was just as good as his firebolt. After all, that's what flying was all about. The sky and clouds and wonderfully fresh breeze, all hugging him from every direction. There was no broom when he was flying. There was no need to direct or think or aim for a destination. It was just him and whatever gifts the sky held.

But that was not the case with the pathetically shaky two-sixty. He'd nearly fallen off twice before getting even ten feet of the ground, and his weight kept pushing the broom either in an unwanted nose-dive, or an equally unwanted "back-dive".

"Try using that in a wronski-feint," Harry muttered to himself, agitated.

It wasn't the best thing in the world, but once he got the general hang of the unruly broom, he was able to fly relatively peacefully. The Sunday breeze was more of a Sunday wind, and the sky didn't seem quite so serene with the constant steadying of the two-sixty, but it was good enough.

In actuality, this was almost as good as flying with his firebolt because both served their purposes. The point of flying quickly and magically was to relax and forget about his problem, and though he wasn't quite able to relax with the two-sixty – its random drops scaring him half to death of a repeat of third year – the constant attention needed for flying the broom correctly took his mind off his current problems.

As the broom gave a worried little jiggle, Harry let out an insuppressible laugh. He could only imagine how foolish he must look. Harry Potter: Hogwart's best seeker on a dying two-sixty, flying like a wounded mosquito. Yes, that's exactly what he needed – more reason for people like Malfoy to laugh at him. And suddenly, he was disgusted all over again, but this time it wasn't because of Ron and Hermione.

He still couldn't believe the nerve of that arse. _Who_ in God's name decides to just randomly up and throw a rock at someone whenever they feel like it? Malfoy was completely insane. He honestly believed the world revolved around him and permitted that he do whatever he feels like doing, whenever he feels like doing it.

That arsehole!

As Harry began to think of another choice names for the infuriating blonde, the scratchy two-sixty went into the human equivalent of a seizure and began to shudder all over the place! For once, it finally moved fast, but in the wrong direction as it plummeted into a speedy nose-dive.

"No! Stop! Stop!" Harry yelled, knowing fully well that it was futile, but he continued yelling commands at the broom, anyway. "Stop! Up! Go up! Go up, you damn broom!"

Busy yelling at the apparently deaf broom, he lost track of just how far down the broom had already dropped, and by the time he gave a worried glance down, his glasses were immediately scratched off by a leafy tree branch. The two-sixty's shaft caught on a lower branch and threw him off to fall the length of the fifty-foot trees.

Harry tried desperately to grab unto any tree branch that came his way as he quickly fell from branch to branch, each leaving a new bruise on him as he continued, and several ripping agonizingly into his skin. Finally, he fell into a particularly thick branch, giving him the chance to grab hold, but the wind had been so thoroughly wrenched from him as he'd fallen violently on his stomach that he had to struggle simply to fight away the fat patches of black that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness.

Losing his chance, he began to fall forward, slowly slipping off like a wet towel. The last thing he was a fluttering butterfly, flying back and forth, curiosity bringing it to dance around Harry's face, before he tumbled the rest of the way off the branch and his skull came crashing into the next thick branch. After that, he knew nothing but darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the support so far of this story. Many of you like it, and I'm glad of that, as is Spideria. I'm so happy to be working with such a brilliant authoress, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. **

**DISCLAIMER:  _We do not own Harry Potter or any of the rights associated with Harry Potter, we only own the plot._**

**I'm rather tired at the moment, so I won't do review responses quite yet, but we would like to thank the following people for reviewing:**

**Enigmus, koolmint26, animegurl1088, avihenda, yukaisheperds**

**Chapter 3**

Harry Potter the boy who lived doesn't like to miss classes, Draco mused to himself. So why is it that he is gone from potions class this morning and his most faithful worshipers Weaselby and Mudblood are looking more anxious in this class than usual?

Could it be possible that they did not know where he was either?

"Draco! Snap out of it! I will not tolerate dismal marks in this class because you can't pay attention. In case you weren't listening we were assigned the dreamless sleep potion. Now get the ingredients!" Pansy, Draco's partner for the day, snapped.

"Get a hold of your composure Parkinson," Draco drawled lazily. "I've already brewed THAT potion, and several more advanced ones at home. I'll just pretend to have to use the lavatory and then get my personal potions collection."

"Right." Pansy replied skeptically.

"Professor! I really need to use the lavatory, could you give me permission to go?" Draco asked innocently.

"I don't see why not. You are excused." Snape replied, without looking up at Draco.

When he was out in the corridors he took his sweet time. Walking at a slow to moderate pace and whistling a soft tune. He knew that, had he been any other student, he'd be punished for taking more than five minutes, but being a teacher's godson had it's perks. Once to the dungeons and into his personal rooms, as each Slytherin seventh year had, he grabbed all of his potions and put them into a small sack to carry back to class.

Now normally the stroll back wouldn't have taken any longer than it did to get there, but when Draco saw opportunities he took them...and there was a small first year opportunity walking his way, looking very suspicious. It had been a while since he'd had any fun, tormenting first years. So when he got closer, in a flash he had the first year hufflepuff boy pinned against the wall.

"Well well well. What do we have here?" Draco asked, with a sneer.

"N-n-nothing Mr. Malfoy s-s-sir."

"I do believe you're acting kind of strange...as Head Boy, I'm required to look out for such things. Do tell me what you're doing out here when classes are supposed to be in session."

"J-j-just using the lavatory s-s-sir."

"Stop calling me sir." Draco retorted disgustedly. "Well we'll just have to see about that. Empty your pockets."

"W-why?"

"DO IT!"

AS the little first year scrambled to obey the over-bearing seventh year, he emptied only one glass container from his pocket that appeared to have a light green powder-like substance in it.

"Explain yourself."

"It's just some skin color powder. It's part of the Weasely twins' skiving boxes. The latest creation."

"I think I'll have to take a look at this myself. Now go."

"B-B-But, that's my--"

"GO! Before I change my mind and deduct points and give detentions for being tardy to class, lying to a teacher about using the lavatory, disrespecting Head Boy, and being found with an illegal substance sold on a black market."

There wasn't anything but the sound of feet scurrying away as Draco turned on his heels and smirked as he went to find the lavatory that George and Fred were operating out of. He'd heard through the grapevine that it was the way they'd been avoiding teachers and the like so far. Is by using a broken lavatory on the fifth floor or something. Grapevines at Hogwarts could never be trusted but it gave him somewhere to start.

As he rounded the corner of the hallway to the first broken lavatory near by, he heard a loud boom and then mere seconds later kids were piling out (mostly first years) and smoke was also billowing from the room. Draco'd been thrown against the nearest wall from impact so he knew there had to be people hurt in there.

"Mr. Malfoy! Thank goodness a Head Boy was nearby! Luck must have been with these children today...I was just coming to see Professor Snape about some healing draught for Potter, but now you'll have to look after him for a while. I'm going to take care of this first and then inform the headmaster and Snape of the situation. They'll expect a report from you as well on the account." Pomfrey got out as she rounded the corner at a run. Apparantly having been already on her way down to see Snape.

"But...But...I don't even like Potter, and I'm supposed to look after him?"

"Mr. Malfoy. You. Are. Head. Boy. You will do as I say, and you will do it because you represent this school and disobeying teachers does NOT represent anything about this school. Now GO." She said with an air of finality.

Draco sighed and gathered up his bag from the ground, hoping none of the ingredients had spilled or any of his potion bottles broken. He'd need some of them for later. He checked his bag and all seemed well. At least he wouldn't be needing that Skin Color changing potion to get out of Transfigurations today. He'd be doing something worse...looking after Potter.

**HPDM HPDM**

Once in the hospital wing Draco took a look around. Empty. Almost all of the ward was empty save for one bed in the corner of the room, as if the person in it didn't want to be noticed. Of course that was a bunch of rubbish, as Draco knew Harry would just love to be on the front page of the prophet every single chance he'd get. He'd probably even play this up as some sort of tragedy, and twist it into somehow being he-who-must-not-be-named's doing.

Really he didn't know why Potter was actually here, but at the moment he really didn't care.

"So..Mr. Harry Potter, at my disposal huh? Well good."

Draco lifted back a fist to punch right into Harry's eye, but caught himself. For one thing Malfoy's don't fight while the other opponent is unconcious and another, Pomfrey would have his head.

For the first time in a long time that he could remember, Draco was bored. He was never bored now-a-days because there was always homework to be done, or first years to torment, and then there was his Head Boy duties...but right now Draco had been assigned to Potter and Potter was about as lively unconcious as he was concious. If Potter were awake right now, he was sure they'd be swapping insult after insult until inevitably they'd end up hurting each other physically...or Potter trying to.

It seemed like hours before Pomfrey entered the ward, and he was none too pleased with her. She not only mistreated him when he was injured, but sent him about this bloody stupid task that she knew would just kill him.

"Excuse me Ms. Pomfrey but would you mind telling me why I'm here, and how long I must stay?"

"You're here because I have duties to attend to, and I told you to stay here. You will stay here and watch over Potter until I say you can go. I might be gone for a while, I have some business to attend to with the Weasley brothers and the injured students from their reckless concotions. So while I'm gone you're to administer Potter his medicine. He needs it every three hours and it's been two and a half already."

"How'd he get injured?" Draco asked, and then added "Not that I care." As an afterthought.

"He was found on the quidditch field this morning by the hufflepuff players. Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasely informed me he'd been missing but didn't know if it was because of something Dumbledore had wanted with him. Now, his medicine is in the cabinets. Since you have not mastered the healing spells required of all medi-witches or wizards you will have to administer it mechanically, or in a muggle fashion. I've laid everything out on a tray for you, and it's all ready. So all you need to do is put the potion into the glass vial, and the glass vial into the Surringe, or the pointy needle thing as some have called it. Good day mr. Malfoy."

With that the door slammed shut behind her. Bloody woman. Now he had to be Potter's caretaker just because he'd been stupid enough to go flying at night on a cleansweep no less. Draco'd noticed the broom minutes ago, but only now pieced it together that it was the cause of Potter's injury. Of course when he got angry at the world, he liked to pick up a broom and fly too, but since Potter had sent HIM to the hospital wing yesterday he didn't have the time nor the energy.

The clock on the wall read so that he had just barely fifteen minutes before he had to inject Potter with the Healing Draught. So he went over to the tray on his bedside table and picked up a glass vial and was about to pour in the healing potion, when is spilled on his hands.

"Stupid fucking potion...stupid fucking Potter...I wish his medicine was poison or something."

Draco was about to try and repour the healing draught into the vial when all of a sudden an idea struck him. He picked up his bag and searched through it for a moment, coming up with a small potion bottle full of a silver liquid and he checked the label to make sure he'd had the correct potion. He did. He filled the vial up to the top and then as an after thought, he added the color changing powder. What better way to make Potter stay in the hospital wing and out of his hair than by making pomfrey worry over a little harmless color change?

So Draco shook up the concotion and grinned evilly as he put the vile mix into the surringe. He cleaned Harry's arm off with alchol as per written instruction of Pomfrey, and then stuck in the needle vicisouly into one of Potter's slightly more prominent veins.

"No one's here to save the wizarding world's _savior._" Draco grinned evilly. "How sad."

As soon as he'd emptied the contents of the potion, Harry began to stir, and then rapidly his skin color started changing from blue, to silver, to green. Draco thought it was odd, but that part of the concotion seemed to be working. Then, just as he was about to laugh at his ingenious, Potter began to tremble lightly. Then shake violently. Then convulse unnaturally. His veins were popping up all over his skin and turning different colors and he had a very red tint to his whole body...this was not good. Not good at all..

Draco was so panicked he didn't know what to do! He didn't know that THIS would be the affect of the mixing of those two things! Oh god, oh god, this was not supposed to happen. All he'd meant to do was scare pomfrey and pay back Potter...oh shit...

And...just like that, the convulsing and bulging had stopped and in another moment it seemed as if the concotion had never been entered into his system. It was like the whole thing never happened...except Draco was still shaking with fear, when Pomfrey came in.

"Mr. Malfoy, did you administer Mr. Potter's medicine?"

"Uh...Yeah..."

"Draco, did you really?"

"Y-y-yes Ma'am." He weakly took the surringe up in his hand and showed her the emptyness of it.

"Very good. You are dismissed. I've informed Headmaster Dumbledore that you are to be excused of the day's homework and activities. Goodnight."

"Uh...yeah..." was all he could say as he turned, still wide-eyed and shaking and pale, as he closed the door behind him.

This was definitly not very good, and it wouldn't be a good night either.

**A/N: How'd you like it? R & R and as always...ENJOY!**

**-Dark & Spideria**


	4. Chapter 4

Gregory Goyle's loud snoring was more hated tonight than ever before. Draco had already spent three hours in bed – thought not tossing and turning. After all, that would ruin his immaculate hair – struggling to sleep.

For the millionth time that night, he furiously cursed himself for not carrying a spare supply of sleeping potion. He'd never had trouble sleeping before – no matter how angry or frustrated he was. But tonight, all he could think about was that stupid prat, Potter.

But tonight, it wasn't good thinking – the kind where he planned different forms of miserable deaths for the four-eyed sod. Regretfully, they were worried thoughts… he was worried for the bloody bigot.

And he hated it.

He tried to sleep; tried to ignore the day's events in the hospital wing. So what if the prat got worse? That's what he'd wanted, in the first place… well, not exactly, but it was an added bonus! He should be jumping around in glee! This was Potter's due payback! He deserved anything and everything bad that happened to him – including this.

So why couldn't he just let it go?

_Because I could get into trouble!_ The blonde finally thought, relieved. _Yes. Of course! I wouldn't care in the slightest if the scrawny idiot was further injured. I just don't want to get caught._ And with the unexpected chaos that had occurred before Pomfrey had left, it was a good enough reason.

After all, who knew what other symptoms the brunette boy might have while Draco wasn't there? And certainly, Madame Pomfrey would be more than eager to jump and assume (correctly, for once) that it was Draco. She'd go straight to that fool of a headmaster and tell him Draco must have pulled some sort of trick while she'd been busy with the other students.

For his own safety, he had to find the antidote to whatever hideous concoction he'd injected into the other teen. That he was helping Potter get better was a minor setback, he convinced himself, but he had to do it for his own well-being. After nearly seven years in this damned school, there was no way he was going to be expelled for on stupid prank. And a prank on Potter, for that matter.

_So what could have possibly triggered that reaction from him?_ He thought quietly to himself. His potion had meant to slow down Potter's healing process and enhance the pain he felt, but nothing more. Really, in all essence, it was a potion that would block out the other medicine and force the boy to heal the slow and painful muggle way. It wasn't anything drastic.

The skin-coloring powder had been meant just as an added kick; a nice laugh… but something in the powder must have had a highly adverse reaction with one of the ingredients in the potion. However, all the ingredients in the potion were relatively lacking in deathly or overly harmful potential.

He went over the potion's exact purpose again.

It did not actually damage the immune system, rather, it slowed down the white-cell reaction, thereby slowing down the overall immune system – along with any other forms of bodily healing - just a tad so as to lengthen the healing process while, conversely, strengthening the sensory nerves so as to more powerfully absorb any pain.

It was meant strictly for a bit of fun (on Draco's part) and torment (on Potter's part). The bloody golden Gryffindor boy would be forced to endure pain for days on end, staying in the hospital wing, and therefore staying out of Draco's hair for a while.

So what could a skin-color changing potion have done to make the two things combine react so badly?

There was a bit of phoenix feather and eye of newt in the potion, and a hint of blast-ended skrewt bile, as well, but again, they were all fairly weak ingredients. Perhaps they could have reacted badly if there had been Dragon hide in the powder, but Dragon hide was highly expensive, and he doubted either of the Weasley twins would be able to afford it – especially if they expected to make suitable profits from their items.

What had gone wrong?

Of course, it was nothing wrong with the potion, itself – that was for sure. Draco was a master at potions, and he knew, without a doubt, that everything had been perfectly brewed in his potion. The blonde thanked all his many private lessons with his godfather. That he could be perfectly sure of his potion's acuteness dramatically lessoned the number of possible problems he would have to think through.

Any little mistakes with even the most insignificant of potions ingredients could lead to a hundred different reactions within each respective person.

And yet, Potter still found away to stand out from the rest. For, Draco was sure, had he done this to anyone else, that adverse reaction would not have been nearly as adverse. Stupid Potter and his need for dramatics in everything he did… conscious or not.

It didn't matter.

What did matter, was fixing the problem as soon as possible so that he could save his skin. Loathe as he was to even think it, he was going to have to speak to one of the hideously lanky, red-haired weasels. There was no way he could even begin to try and solve the problem without knowing the exact ingredients of the powder.

He had, of course, checked the container in which the powder had come, but, as should have been expected, there had been nothing written on it. No name. No directions. No ingredients. Why would there be? Any giveaway would have the Weasels in detention faster than they could come up with any excuses, which was, indeed, quite fast.

The question now, was, how to go about asking them? Surely they wouldn't so freely give out such information to him, a Slytherin head boy, ready to turn them in for the slightest of infractions. He didn't have any blackmail on them at the moment… And surely, he couldn't tell them the true reason for the need of this information. True, they would be eager enough to help the stupid scarhead, but they would just as eagerly turn him in, afterward.

He'd have to figure it out later. His head, buzzing with lack of sleep, was too muddled to come up with a proper tactic at the moment and so, finally, with a sigh, he decided his problem thoroughly thought threw for the time being.

His fatigue was quickly kicking in, and he wasn't going to throw away the chance at sleep now that he'd finally caught it. The tired blonde let out a small yawn and let his eyes drift close, sailing blissfully into a glorious sea of dreams.

**DHDHDH**

Draco forced himself to keep walking as he passed the hospital wing, thought _not_ of his accord, he was sure. It was just a coincidence that he'd happened to take the path past the hospital wing to the dining hall… yet again.

Two days had passed, and the Gryffindor had yet to leave the hospital wing. Better for him, of course – not Potter to deal with, but still… he had his record to worry about. So long as Potter didn't get him into any trouble, he didn't care how badly hurt the prat was.

He wasn't too worried, though. He'd finally come up with a plan to find the ingredients to the skin-color changing powder so as to figure out what the bloody problem had been with the two mixed potions and fix the other boy enough to make sure he didn't get expelled.

While in the library, he'd overheard the mudblood and her weasel lover talking about the bathroom explosion that had started Draco's whole dilemma in the first place. After the usual nonsense bickering with the weasel being a complete idiot and the mudblood calling him out on it, she'd finally concluded, "With all the rules they've managed to break in their Hogwarts careers, I'd say a week of detention isn't even _nearly_ sufficient punishment!"

"But with _Snape! _And in the _Dungeons!_"

Of course, he had continued on to defend his clown brothers and mourn over the loss of items in the explosion, but Draco didn't bother to listen to much else. He'd quickly gathered his things and left to his room to quickly check for a small vial.

After finding that the vial was, indeed, safely tucked away in his trunk, he set out to fully formulate his plan, which he was going to set into affect this very evening.

The blonde blindly chewed through his food, keeping his eyes on the oldest remaining Weasels, waiting for them to leave. He wasn't sure what time the detention would begin, but he knew it had to be some time after dinner, for Snape always set his detentions at night.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the twins stood up with frowns on their faces and exchanged a few bitter-looking words before leaving. Draco smiled quietly to himself before slowly packing his bags and following after the boys.

He walked slowly and, once he reached the corner leading to the potions room, held back, and waited. A few moments passed before his godfather walked out of the room, turning to his left – away from Draco – and towards the direction that Draco knew led to his personal quarters.

Once the older man was out of sight, Draco took a few quick strides and opened the door to the potions room. "Hello, Weasleys."

Identically bored faces turned to him, before both rolling their eyes as one asked, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Well, to get right down to the point, I want to know the ingredients to this clever little powder of yours," he replied, pulling the glass container from his right cloak pocket.

"Hey! How'd you get that!" The two shouted in unison.

"Not important. What _is_ of grave importance, is that I know the ingredients used to make this joke of yours."

"Right. And why-"

"Pray, tell-"

"Would we tell you?"

"I figured this would be your reaction, so I have a deal to make with the two of you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"Just a warning,"

"Money isn't going to cut it."

Malfoy gave a small sound of indignation in the back of his throat. "Though I can understand why poor filth like you wouldn't understand the value of good money-"

"Alright, Malfoy!" started the one to his right.

"You can leave, now."

With an agitated sigh, he continued, "Fine, whatever. Just listen. You've got three more three-hour detentions to face by the looks of this mess, and no magic to get rid of it all. What you need, is a wand. And though yours have been taken away, mine hasn't." Brandishing his wand, he gave a small smirk.

"Your point being?" The one on the left asked, dully.

"Ugh! Do I honestly have to spell everything out for you? I'll get rid of this mess for your last three detentions of you give me the ingredients to your powder."

"Right," the twin duet began.

"Because of course we'd give over-"

"The ingredients to a-"

"Soon-to-be highly valuable-"

"Market product just to-"

"Get out of three detentions."

"Look. I'm not asking for the bloody measurements and directions for brewing. All I want to know are the ingredients. Plain and simple. You don't have to tell me the quantities, or temperatures for brewing, or anything else. You don't even have to give me the bloody name of this damn powder! I'm simply asking for the ingredients. There's not any way I could possibly remake this powder with just that."

"Fred," chirped the one to his left. "I think it's time for a conference."

"Why, yes, George, I think you're right."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Draco exclaimed as the two huddled close together in quiet whispers. After a few moments of Draco's irritated foot-tapping, the two broke apart with sly smirks.

"Alright, Malfoy," began the one Draco now knew to be Fred.

"Because your nose is so painfully pointed,"

"And because you are hideously unpopular,"

"And because it always seems as though you have a particularly splintered broomstick lodged up your-"

"Alright! Can you just get on to the point!" the Slytherine cut in, losing his patience.

"Alright, fine, fine. If you insist."

"Because of all these reasons,"

"And many, many, many, many, many, MANY, MANY," a glare from the blonde hurried George up, "MANY, MANY more,"

"We have decided to take pity and accept your offer."

"Yes. You take care of our three detentions, and then we'll tell you the ingredients."

"Actually," Draco began, "I had a better idea."

"Just as you won't tell me the ingredients first and trust that I will keep my part of the deal, I don't trust that you will tell me the ingredients if I take care of your detentions. So, here's what I say. I'll take care of your detention now, and you tell me a few of your ingredients. Every day, I'll clean the room again, and you will tell me a few more ingredients, until the final day, when I know all the ingredients."

After sharing a glance with each other, the two nodded in acceptance.

"And, just to be sure you two aren't lying, I have a bit of veritaserum for-"

"No way." "Absolutely not!" The two laughed at the same time.

"Relax. I knew you two wouldn't easily agree, so once again, the genius that is me has thought of an agreeable approach. I will only give one of you the veritaserum. The other can stand next to me and stop me if I ask an unreasonable question."

The twins shared a longer look this time, but after a moment, they nodded, once again, in agreement.

"Perfect," and with that, Draco cast the cleaning spell and the cleaning supplies the other two boys had been using flew from their hands and set to work at an astounding pace. "They should be done with the whole in room in about fifteen minutes."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_I am now writing this story solo – after a while, Spideria and I may return to our format of writing it together, however I am at a place in RL where I can begin writing again – whereas she is not. _

_Just so you all know (if you are interested) I will be updating regularly again. I'm working on a lot of different pieces, both for this site and for another one – but I'm trying to write every day. IF this begins to be too much, I will focus solely on one story and then move on to the others that I haven't yet finished here._

_Without further ado, here is Chapter 5._

**Chapter 5**

Three days passed. Three slow, agonizing and wretched days. By the end of them, the very sight of the red-haired rat twins caused Draco severe nausea. But with each passing day, came a clean room and a new set of ingredients. If the blonde weren't so disgusted by the twins, he would actually be impressed. They had an obvious knowledge base in potions that was creatively applied to their products.

He was sure that if they applied themselves in school, they'd get better marks. But of course, this was not his concern, nor would it ever be. They could fling themselves from the astronomy tower and he wouldn't so much as spare a parting glance.

In the end, he snatched the yellow parchment containing the ingredients and practically waltzed out of the room which contained the smug pair. Now that the ordeal was over, he would file it away under experiences never to be revisited again, and promptly forget it ever happened.

Once to his private rooms, he shut and locked the door, walking to his desk. The room provided comfort for him. It was his sanctuary – the one place in which no one or no thing could bother him – both emotionally and physically.

The walls were covered from floor to ceiling, by large emerald curtains which Draco used to conceal the ugly gray stones that the room consisted of. He had magically installed plush cream carpeting to soften both the hardness on the eyes and on the feet. Mahogany wood sprouted and made the four posters of his majestic canopy bed. The curtains were made of a sheer enchanted material that would twinkle like stars when the lights turned off. When he was in the mood, he would go to bed early, just to stare at the pattern and drift to sleep thinking about his parents.

The furniture palette was dark and made of blacks and silvers. If you were to sit on any of the full and fluffy chairs, the fabrics would delight your fingers with their soft caress. His desk was a simple writing desk and its top was neat with a straight stack of books, a globe of the world that marked magical communities with little glowing red dots, and a bottle of ink with parchment.

It contained a drawer, in which he held important documents and even one or two photographs. As Draco sat, he pulled a particular parchment out of his desk and neatly re-copied the written ingredients in his own writing. Then he pulled up his potions book and flipped to the pages he had ear marked, for the other two potions. It took him nearly ten minutes to spot the infraction.

There were doxy eggs in the Color-Change Powder. Draco slammed the book shut and tried to reign in his temper. He was heaving and his face and neck were a deep shade of rouge. The desk started to shake with his trembling hands, and the anger was beginning to be so much that he was fighting tears.

Doxy eggs and blast-ended skrewt bile, were never to mix. NEVER. It was generally understood by those who brewed potions that ingredients fell into four categories. And while some could be mixed, others most definitely could not be mixed.

This particular combination should have killed Potter. He was only certain now that one of the other ingredients had saved him from his end. No, instead the potion that he injected into the raven-haired git, would mute all function of potions within him for at least a month and a half. Perhaps two…and Draco would be lucky if that was least amount of time.

If possible, this was worse than the original intent. Not only would Potter have to heal the muggle way, but any attempts to help him sleep or get enough nutrition through potions, would not be successful. No potion could help him for any purpose. And without knowing the cause of this condition, Pomfrey and even St. Mungus would not know how to fix it.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, allowing his medium length blonde hair to fall over his face.

They would blame him for this, he was sure of it. He had to ensure that all evidence was destroyed. There were no witnesses, and if he could just get down to the hospital wing in time, he could assess the damage. As long as Potter had not awakened yet, then Pomfrey would have no reason to suspect anything was wrong. The last Draco had heard (not that he was checking), Potter had not moved an inch.

So, with grim determination and his heart thrashing against his chest, he made his way to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Being head boy had its privileges. He could prowl the castle this late at night and receive little to no grief for it. Tonight was no leisurely stroll however, and his brisk pace reflected this. Each step was carefully controlled and equally as graceful. His robes billowed behind him, catching slightly in the wind he was creating, while his footfalls echoed like drums off of the walls.

In a matter of a record eighteen minutes he was at the door and slipping silently into the Hospital Wing. Potter's bed now sported drawn curtains, meaning Draco was in luck. Pomfrey had done rounds already and set herself off to bed.

The Slytherin whipped back the thin white material and his eyes fell upon the frail looking form of one such Harry Potter. His face was pale and his chest was rising and falling a little unevenly. He looked pathetic. Grey eyes traveled slowly down past the waist and to the leg which was set in a splint. The skin around the area showed veins more prominently than anywhere else, and Draco saw the blue and green lines which he could trace with his finger. Of course there was bruising as well, but he could handle that.

Never having had a broken bone himself, Draco was morbidly fascinated. The warm August air ghosted against his cheek, kissing the exposed skin of his arm with each receding tug of his sleeves. His hand moved closer to the leg and he stopped, five fingers close together but hanging loosely. Thoughts raced through his mind – did this make him weird? Why did he want to do this? – but it didn't matter.

Decision made he closed the distance and felt the broken leg of his arch nemesis. Draco rolled his eyes as he thought this through. But his mind became blank and his mouth hung slightly open with each new finding. The tanned skin beneath him felt slightly warmer than normal, yet the texture was not as smooth as he had expected. Like a violinist moving his fingers over the strings as he played, his expedition took him to the raised portion of the leg under which the bone had broken.

He thought idly of pressing down upon it, but it seemed unimportant in light of how much pain Potter would be dealing with anyway. Finally, he turned his attention back to the task for which he'd originally come.

Opening the glass casing which held the medicine trays, Draco found the empty bottles of potions and the syringe, exactly as he'd left them. Normally Pomfrey would have cleared off the items by now had it not been for the outpour of patients from the bathroom explosion the Weaselys caused. He had to find himself once more grateful to the stupid twins for being useful for that one thing at least: they certainly knew how to create distraction.

Draco gave it no further thought and pointed his wand at the contents.

Quietly he whispered, "Abolesco."

The spell would appear, to any muggle, as if acid were eating away everything in front of them. The bottles and needle began to decompose, withering into nothing. With every last satisfying sizzle and crack, Draco felt his chest lighten with the relief flooding inside of him. He couldn't be implicated anymore. Anything that happened to Potter from here on out would be the sole responsibility of Madam Pomfrey.

Putting things neatly back in order, he closed the case and drew the curtains. He turned on his heel to go back to the dungeons and he felt truly home free after closing the door behind him. A smug grin permeated his features at the thought of what had just been accomplished.

His mother and father would have been delighted with him for this night. He'd crippled Potter and covered it up! On top of which, any investigation into the incident might cost the haggard old medi-witch her job at Hogwarts. Then she could be replaced with someone halfway decent. Preferably someone that Dumbledore didn't have the first choice of.

Draco was lighter than air. He felt like a god descending amongst mortals with each step he took down the stair case to the common rooms. For the first time in many months, he would sleep with a smile on his face and his dreams would be of his proud parents embracing him for his triumph.

* * *

There were no windows in the dungeon and Draco liked this most of the time. No sunshine could enter his domain and wake him up at the crack of its rise. However, he did miss the slow grey and heavy dew that he saw at Malfoy Manor in the mornings. Days like that made him leave his bed with a stretch and he would sneak to the kitchen for a chocolate covered crescent coupled with a steamy mug of cocoa.

His parents never believed in leaving your bedroom unless you were fully dressed and ready for the day – so he took pleasure in these small comforts at the dining room table, a copy of the Daily Prophet propped up in his lap. When he was finished, he ordered house elves to clean while he slipped quietly into his bed chambers to shower.

Here in the cold and drafty dungeons, the lights on his curtains still twinkled around him and they were dim enough that they didn't glare into his eyes. His alarm clock, an enchanted statue of a sleeping snake, lay coiled up until it was to do its job. Draco woke just in time to see the stony black head rise up groggily.

"Sssssix Thirty Draco. Time to ssssssslither out of bed."

The serpent lay back down and Draco sighed. Lucky statue. Quietly he got up and walked to his wardrobe, grasping the matte silver handles and pulling the double doors open. He picked out a pair of black pants and the rest of his school uniforms. When this was finished he folded everything neatly into a stack and grabbed his sack of toiletries before heading into the bathrooms.

He made quick work of it, not bothering to go to the Head Boy bathrooms, simply running some soap over his frame and conditioning his hair for a few minutes. He rinsed off and once he was dry, he put on his uniform. He took a moment to check his eyes in the mirror. A Malfoy never appeared in public with the disgrace of bags or dark circles.

Once certain that his face was as smooth and blemish free as ever, he made his way to the Great Hall.

The aroma of freshly baked bread with the hint of coffee grain hit his nostrils when the doors swung open. He inhaled deeply and his eyes briefly flickered to the Gryffindor table, perhaps out of instinct, and he noticed three empty spots. His grey scrutiny fell over the other tables but none held any interest for the blonde. He sat between Pansy and Crabbe, with Goyle on the other side of Crabbe. Each said their 'hello' and went back to their breakfast, though he did notice Pansy giving him inquiring looks every now and then. She could tell when he was distracted.

It was none of their business what he was thinking about. He would tell them if he wanted them to know. His victory last night strangely held no glory for him this morning…he was devoid of any thought or feeling at the moment besides curiosity and hunger. Usually he would be busy regaling the gang with details of the adventure and how he had finally – finally – given Potter exactly what he deserved.

The setting was perfect for him to do so, as luck would have it. The Slytherin table had been scant in numbers since the defeat of The Dark Lord. Most of the students in the house were death eaters' children and were removed by surviving family members to continue their education elsewhere. This left plenty of privacy for Draco to divulge in a little story telling.

But even as he cut himself a slice of bread from the steaming loaf sitting before him, his mind churned through the possibilities of where Weaselby and Mudblood were. He spread the waiting margarine onto his bread after toasting it with his wand. Most likely they were visiting the Hospital Wing for their ailing friend. The mindless robots. Lackeys.

His thoughts made bitter taste of his breakfast and he gave up, placing the remaining three-quarters of it on his plate, instead choosing to pour himself some coffee. Slytherin table was the only one to receive coffee, mainly because they requested it from the house elves, but more than likely because Snape had talked to the headmaster on their behalf. The things Hogwarts' Potion Master would do for his godson was unbelievable.

The hot brew slid down his throat, warming him and waking him at the same time. He allowed a slight noise of pleasure to emit, small enough that he didn't think anyone else heard.

"Should we leave you and the coffee alone, Draco darling?" Pansy said quietly into her own cup.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to remove your vocal chords with my bare hands, Pansy dear?"

She snorted but said nothing.

"Then I suggest you let me caffeinate before you speak to me."

Pansy picked up her toast and took a bite before placing it on her plate. Next she picked up her fork and took a piece of scrambled egg into her mouth, before chewing slowly and thoughtfully.

"Where do you suppose the Golden Trio is?"

The blonde sneered, "I have no desire to keep tabs on the whereabouts of the idiots Dumbledore favors."

"I'm just saying," She continued, taking another bite, "They're usually all here by now. I see Severus isn't here either. Perhaps they're in the dungeons. Hopefully being tortured."

At her observation, Draco's eyes snapped to the Teacher's table where he noticed his godfather was indeed absent. He frowned for a brief moment. Snape was never late for breakfast.

The old adage goes, 'Speak of the Devil,' or something like that. And it must have been true, for right at that moment the large doors flew open with a bang and their black haired Head of House entered looking especially surly. His piercing black gaze met Draco's and he caught the slight nod of the older man's head meaning he needed to speak to him.

Draco lifted from his seat and extracted himself from behind the bench.

"I'll see you in class." With that, he departed.

Their stride fell into sync with one another, walking down the hall away from the other students. Snape veered sharply to the right and pulled his godson into the alcove with him. Draco knew better than to speak at a time like this, so he simply waited for Snape to speak. The man looked to be gathering his wits and reigning in his temper by the slight red color of his cheeks.

"It appears that the Headmaster has initiated some sort of 'Intern' program with the Ministry of Magic."

Draco prepared to speak, but he was stopped by the look Severus gave him.

"The program allows participants to earn house points as well as a chance to earn twice the weight of a single grade that you could earn in a course on the grounds."

This was unexpectedly good news, and Malfoy had to wonder what the problem was, but he kept his mouth shut.

"It appears that you are not eligible for this program."

Draco's brow furrowed and his fists balled. "What? Why in the hell not?"

"Mind your temper, Draco. You are a student in my house and I will not have you reflecting badly upon me. Now before your little outburst, I was about to tell you why not. It appears that the intern program is for those wishing to become Aurors only. No other profession may apply for internship."

"Bullocks! Why should some students get chances that others do not?"

"I will not have you repeat what I am about to say," Snape looked in all directions before continuing, "But I believe the headmaster needed an excuse for something he has done."

The blonde looked expectantly at the taller man.

Severus sighed deeply before talking in an even more quiet tone, as if it would lessen the blow upon delivery. "Dumbledore has sent Granger and Weasely to the mountain range where the Giants dwell. It appears that this is perfectly legal under the guise of this 'program.'"

"Oh wonderful." Draco threw his hands above his head, "No doubt he sent his precious minions out for a little vacation. Why not? They're friends with the boy-who-lived and killed the Dark Lord. Not to mention my parents. Let's not forget about that."

"Calm yourself." Snape's tone sliced through Draco's tirade. "I would hardly call it a vacation. They're students – out to help Hagrid make peace with the Giants. There is a certain amount of danger that comes with the task."

"Why did you tell me this? What does this have to do with me?" Malfoy spat.

"I told you because I wanted you to know the truth. The headmaster has asked me to have you report to his office before classes begin. He has something to discuss with you. Before you ask, I have no idea what the matter pertains to. But either way, you are expected to be there."

Draco shook his head, resisting the urge to run a frustrated hand through his hair. Instead he clasped his books at his side and looked to the ground. "May I leave?"

Snape looked down at his godson and wished to comfort him, but his composure remained intact and he nodded. "You may go."

The Slytherin strode away in the direction of the Headmaster's office, not wanting to meet but having no alternative. Eventually he ended up in front of the stone gargoyles guarding the staircase made of stone. He had taken his time getting there and now he was sure to miss at least a few minutes of class. Considering the start his day was off to, he felt entitled to these extra minutes.

His focus returned to the guardian statues that barred him from entrance and he realized he didn't have the password.

"I'm Draco Malfoy from Slytherin house. I'm here for an appointment with the Headmaster." He spoke, looking between the two.

After a brief moment they looked at him and jumped aside, waiting to reclaim their previous position at the door. He stepped onto the revolving staircase that he had only ever heard about, and stared up at the level floor that was swiftly coming to him.

Draco stepped lightly off the contraption and prided himself on the fact that he hadn't tripped. A lush embroidered carpet that was the size of the floor, laid a path to the large desk which housed Dumbledore behind it. The aged wizard sat staring into his eyes, making the blonde highly uncomfortable but nevertheless able to meet his searching stare. Wrinkled fingers steepled in front of half moon spectacles which enhanced the famed 'twinkle' of crisp blue eyes of the Dumbledores.

Everyone always claimed how wise Albus was, when in fact he was a fool. Draco saw through this façade and wished dearly to expose the man for the fraud he was. His father knew all of his dirty tricks and secrets and told most to Draco before he died. He swallowed the bile in his throat and nodded in undeserved respect, not quite ready to speak.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore spoke cheerfully. "I see Snape delivered my message!"

"He did." Draco allowed.

"Excellent! In which case, I have something I wish to ask of you."


End file.
